Riti Prasad’s book is a tell-all chronicle of raising twins during their early childhood. In what’s a personal story, she talks of the best and the worst of parenting theories, the boom of internet moms, the battle between working and stay-at-home moms as well as other parenting after-shocks.

It was not easy to reconcile with the reality that being a mother of boys is a lonely road. There is stuff one can share with a daughter, which one cannot with sons. After a few years of brooding, I had my peace. Despite my deep wish for a daughter, if I had to do this again, I would not have it any other way.

I blame it on myself for taking them for lingerie shopping; I could be forgiven to think that at the age of five, they would not notice much. I was wrong.

I resigned myself to spending a lifetime in the men’s section of stores and sports shops. Because taking them to women’s section was trouble. I blame it on myself for taking them for lingerie shopping; I could be forgiven to think that at the age of five, they would not notice much. I was wrong.

They pointed and grabbed at the wares, underwear advertisements, and mannequins and announced ‘chaddi chaddi’ in loud and amused voices. They checked trial room doors, looked under the door through the gap to giggle at an unsuspecting shopper, and all but asked them to leave because their mamma had to get inside to try the said chaddis.

Meanwhile, the children decided they could not go to the women’s toilet anymore. They would go to the ‘gentle’ toilet. Finally, that was one task off my list. My only responsibility now was to check, ‘Hand wash kiya? Soap use kiya?’ I was thankful I had passed on my OCD in the early days itself, which prompted them to wash hands even if they touched me. They had learnt their cleanliness lessons well.

My equation with the sons became even more physical than it was earlier. In the beginning, I was the source of their meals.

The husband is a good man; gentle, caring, and well-mannered. He is also a mamma’s boy. So is the brother and so is my father and my cousins. All around I look in the household, I see gentle boys, caring for their moms, a little too much sometimes, I tell myself. I pray my luck holds, too. I pray these things do not skip a generation.

My equation with the sons became even more physical than it was earlier. In the beginning, I was the source of their meals. Soon, I fretted, they would need me less. However, it was not so. Ojas hated hugs and kisses of any kind but Tejas was always amenable to every squeeze, hug, and kiss. His body, pliant and soft was soul-satisfying in a cuddle. Ojas, on the other hand, remained stiff in the face of slobbering kisses and bone-crushing hugs. We were still co-sleeping, more for practical reasons than design. We did not have a spare room at that time. Despite numerous cars and toys that poked us on the bed, we loved it that way. Sprawled in between the twins, being pulled from both sides to spoon or hug either of them, I would settle for the flat-on-the-back pose, not my preferred sleeping style.

Nevertheless, the sleep I would drift off to was the sweetest of all. The one in which I hugged them tight, a hand or a leg thrown over my body, and the smell of their hair assailing my nostrils. In spite of the physical discomfort of a moving child in bed, a child who pokes the back with his foot or another who plonks his head over our head, it was sweet slumber.

Double Trouble, Double Fun! -A Supermom’s Guide To Raising Twins is published by HayHouseExcerpted with permission from author

Feature Image: Mom by Manrepepller.com

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